


H 






FLORETTA NEWBURY CRAWFORD 




Class. "' 357) $ 

Book '7?37%r 



Copyright N°_ 



^^ 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



Dreamin 
= Back= 



BY 



Floretta Newbury Crawford 




BROADWAY PUBLISHING COMPANY 
835 Broadway, New York 






£0^ 



\J1 



Copyright, 1 909, 
BY 

Floretta Newbury Crawford. 



35 6 



Co 

the dear memory of my sister 



IT inscribe this book 



NOTE. 

The poems presented in this volume in- 
clude some hitherto unpublished work of 
the author, with selections from that 
which has previously appeared in print. 
Of the latter, a few of the earlier poems 
were published originally under a pen- 
name. 

After the poem "A Song of Home" 
had been long written and submitted for 
publication, its author chanced to come 
across some magazine verses on the same 
theme, although under a different title 
and with an entirely varying treatment of 
the subject. 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 



A Hillside Garden 7 

Two Boys 11 

A Song of Home 12 

One of Many 14 

A Prophet of the Corn Land . .19 

Harry 20 

Unforgotten 22 

Wishes 25 

Looking to the Sunrise . ... 27 

A Heritage 29 

A Memory 31 

"Alice and I" 32 

A Mountain Stream 34 

A Guiding Hand 2>7 

"Jack" 38 

The Old Home 40 

War and Peace. 42 

The Cottonwood . . . . . . g.3 

In Retrospect 45 

My Christmas Child 50 

Spring o' the Year . . . . . 52 
Errant Thoughts - ' » .„ . -55 

Three in a Row «* « K • • 58 

"Baby" ..-,,- - h s . . 60 



DREAMING BACK. 

A HILLSIDE GARDEN. 

Above, a steeply rising hill ; 

A silent pool, low lying ; 
Across the road, the mill-race swift, 

Down to the great wheels flying. 

Over this picture mountains tower 

Like sentinels unsleeping, 
That through the misty centuries 

A lofty watch are keeping. 

They look upon the little town 
Low gleaming in the valley; 
And seem to note each bird and bee 
That round the flowerets rally. 

And say: "Your life is but a day, 

While we are of the ages ; 
The Book of Time has countless leaves, 

The cycles are its pages." 
Z 



DREAMING BACK 

High in the giant beech tree's top 

In swinging cradle flutters 
The golden oriole's restless brood 

When loud the storm king mutters. 

But as their home-nest slowly rocks, 
With gentler airs soft blowing, 

They preen their ruffled plumage bright, 
Alarm no longer knowing. 

The children, loitering home from school, 
Up the steep hill-road patter; 

And wake the slumbering echoes there, 
With noisy shout and chatter. 

But when they reach the hill's gray crest, 
They climb the low wall quickly ; — 

The wild strawberry blossoms where 
The lettered stones stand thickly. 

They know it as the pleasant place 
Where buttercups bloom brightest; 

Where grows the blue forget-me-not, 
And daisies are the whitest. 

The song of birds rings sweetly there ; 
There fall the softest showers; 
8 



DREAMING BACK 



The velvet bee, with low-toned hum, 
Flits through the happy hours. 

And all the buzz of insect life 

Drones on — now low, now deeper ; 

Crooning a drowsy slumber song 
To every quiet sleeper. 

The children climb the grassy slope 
With joyous calls, and laughter ; 

And hide behind the gravestones tall 
From those who follow after. 

But when they find some well-known name 

Of one who left them lately, 
They linger there a little space, 

Then walk on, more sedately. 

They stand upon the topmost knoll 
To watch the sunlight fading ; 

And see the changeful, golden beams 
To pink and gray soft shading. 

And think that they, whose names they 
read, 
Must tired be of sleeping, 
Away from all the fair, bright things 
That make life worth the keeping. 
9 



DREAMING BACK 



When on life's sunny days I wake 
No more for those who love me; 

Oh, happy children ! Come and make 
Your daisy chains above me. 

Bright be the flowers to lure you, when 
Your light feet tire of roaming; 

And soft the waving grass to nod 
A welcome to your coming. 

Laugh out with all the heart of youth, 
As merry fancies cheer you; 

And though below I lie asleep, 
It may be I shall hear you. 



IQ 



DREAMING BACK 



TWO BOYS. 

Between two bonny boys I stand ; 
On each fair head I rest a hand. 

Two faces bright are raised to mine, 
And both with boyish mischief shine. 

Two eyes of gray — two eyes of blue, — 
Where childhood's happy heart looks 
through. 

A hand on each dear head I lay; 
"God keep my bonny boys!" I pray. 

Dream children! Visions of the night! 
You vanish with the morning light. 

Between two baby graves I kneel ; 
Too tired for tears, I only feel. 

Babes ever ! Never older grown ! 
So young, they could not walk alone. 

On each short mound a hand I lay; 
"God keep my bonny boys !" I pray. 



IX 



DREAMING BACK 

A SONG OF HOME. 

(Good comrades of the Golden Days! — 

Rovers o'er land or sea! 
I bid you to the hills of home, 
There keep you tryst with me. 

The hills of home — the dear home 
hills! 
The hills our light feet knew, 
When hope was bright, and life 
was young, 
And every heart was true. 

Far from the hills those feet have strayed, 

Out to the Everywhere ; 
Playmates when each new morn was joy, 
And all the eves were fair. 

The hills of home — the rose-hued 
hills! 
The morning hills we knew, 
When hope was bright, and life 
was young, 
And every heart was true. 

Parted so long! Then dare I call 

Each old, familiar name? 
Unchanged, the rock-ledged hills still rise, 

12 



DREAMING BACK 

But we — are we the same? 

The hills of home — the sunlit hills ! 

The noonday hills we knew, 
When hope was bright, and life 
was young, 
And every heart was true. 

Men — bowed with all the years between, 

Women — with whitened hair, 
Thus come we to the hills of home, 
So must we gather there. 

The hills of home — the purple hills ! 

The twilight hills we knew, 
When hope was bright, and life 
was young, 
And every heart was true. 

Oh, there be some of us who sleep ! 

But wakened these to-day, 
To climb with us the hills of home, 
We were more ghosts than they. 

The hills of home — the shadowed 
hills! 
The evening hills we knew, 
When hope was bright, and life 
was young, 
And every heart was true. 
13 



DREAMING BACK 

ONE OF MANY. 

Here he stands, 

Straight and tall; 
Sixteen years — 

That is all. 

See his look, 

Full of pride; 
Gun at rest 

By his side. 

Pictures fade, 

Hearts are true; 
Hair of brown, 

Eyes of blue. 

So they went — 

Boys and men; 
So they came 

Not again. 

Musket shot, 

Screaming shell, 
Do their work 

All too well. 
14 



DREAMING BACK 

Battle charge, 

Prison dread; 
Hunger, cold, 

Rows of dead. 

Sickness, wounds, 

Hurried prayer ; 

Burial — 

Dear Lord! Where? 

Scattered graves 

Heroes keep; 
As they fell 

So they sleep. 

So these staid, 

Lying low; 
Faces turned 

To the foe. 

Weary, pale, 

Shattered, marred; 
Prison-starved, 

Battle-scarred. 

Fever-worn — 

Boys and men; 
i5 



DREAMING BACK 

They who came 

Home again. 

Sons of ours, 

Old as they, 
Still at school, 

Shout and play. 

Sterner days — 

Sterner deeds; 
In each heart, 

Glory's seeds 

Dormant lie; 

At the ring 
Of the steel, 

Up they spring. 

So grim war 

Called them then; 
Found them — boys, 

Made them — men. 

If the same 

Need arose, 
These would be 

Brave as those. 
16 



DREAMING BACK 

Principle ! 

Glorious thought! 
With the Land's 

Honor fraught. 

Shout that word! 

Peal it forth ! 
Clang it, bells, 

South and North! 

For the Flag — 

Freedom's sign, — 
Roll the drum 

Down the line. 

Sound the wild 

Bugle call; 
Let its clear 

Echoes fall. 

Ere its notes 

Die away, 
These would rush 

To the fray. 

Marches long, 

Scanty fare, 



DREAMING BACK 

Stout of heart, 

They would bear. 

Heeding not 

Wounds and pain; 
Counting loss 

But as gain. 

Young hearts brave 

For the right, 

As men fought, 

These would fight. 

Young eyes raised 

To the sky; 
As men died, 

These would die. 



ii 8 



DREAMING BACK 



A PROPHET OF THE CORN LAND. 

The farmer proudly sees his tasseled sol- 
diers 
By warm, sweet breezes tossed ; 
Along the whispering ranks his quick eye 
glancing, 
Reviews his mighty host. 
He notes each milk-green ear, and gives 
his order: 
"Grow fast — or you are lost! 
Last night the earliest katydid scraped 
shrilly : 
'Look out ! Six weeks to frost !' " 



19 



DREAMING BACK 

HARRY. 

He cut it from the printed page, — 
A pictured boy, of winsome age. 

Then walked across the room to me, 
And laid it down, quite silently. 

Gray-haired and grim; — and yet — why 

not? 
His heart still kept that tender spot. 

For our two babes had sailed away, 
To find the Happy Isles, one day. 

A laughing, roguish, baby face, 
Brimful of sunny, childish grace. 

I tucked it in the mirror frame; 
And — "Harry," — is his only name. 

And ever, as that face I see, 
I smile at him — he smiles at me. 

I think his eyes, so clear, and true, 
Say: "I am good, and so are you." 
20 



DREAMING BACK 

Sweet trust of babyhood ! So fair 
And pure a faith is like a prayer. 

I say: — and smile, though half, I sigh, — 
"Not good, Sweet Heart, e'en though I 
try." 

A picture, looking from the wall; 
A baby face, and that is all. 

And yet — I meet that look of joy, 

With : "All good angels bless the boy !" 



21 



DREAMING BACK 
UNFORGOTTEN. 

I was a child — ah, years ago; 

And we were friends. How strange it 
seems 
To think that she, whom well I loved — 

Who comes to me in waking dreams — 
Has solved the mysteries of death, 

While I — this side the portal, — 
The things of time and sense yet know; 

But she is now immortal. 
Dear Frank! 

We were but care-free children then, 

We joined in sport, and laughter gay; 
And one day — scarce but children still — 

She went from me a little way. 
Short was the voyage, near the Port, 

For narrow flowed the River; 
But sad the haunting thought to me, 

That she would come back never. 
Lost Frank! 

Cost — for a space! As one who steps 

With quiet footfall through a door 
Which gently shuts — so passed my friend. 

22 



DREAMING BACK 

Lost? Life has taught a dearer lore. 
This is not all. And time is short, — 

Day fast on day comes pressing; 
And just beyond my earth-dimmed sight 

She waits, with smiles caressing. 
My Frank! 

Many the yesterdays that lie 

Between our parting time — and this; 
But when in memory's glass I see 

Her face, no look of old I miss. 
The striving years bring chance and 
change, 

Gray hairs and wrinkles blended; 
But she is evermore the same, 

For time with her is ended. 
Happy Frank ! 

For aye the same ! And yet — who knows ? 

Who reads the all-wise Father heart? 
And who can tell what plan of growth 

May be of Heaven's life a part? 
I've turned the page of childhood's years, 

I've read my girlhood's story; 
Life's later tale unfolds — and she, 

Mayhap, grows on in Glory. 
Angel Frank! 
23 



DREAMING BACK 

Serene — to muse ! When pale clouds drift 

As mist-boats to a shining strand, 
To fancy mortal eyes may see 

The flutter of a beckoning hand. 
My playmate! Hearts remember long; 

And death is absence, merely; 
With smiling faith, where once were tears, 

I answer you so cheerily: 

"Coming, Frank!" 



24 



DREAMING BACK 
WISHES. 

Bess and Kate and Fan and Nell 
Wandered o'er the meadow; 

Tired at last, they sat them down 
'Neath an old oak's shadow. 

Kate said, in a laughing tone : 

"Girls, let's tell our wishes 
For a husband, and we'll hope 

Fate may be propitious." 

"I," said Bess, the sensible, 

"Marry a man of labor; 
One who earns his daily bread 

Toiling for his neighbor." 

Fannie, with the dreamy eyes, 

Speaks: "I wed a poet; 
Such a man of genius, he, 

All the world shall know it." 

Kittie, pretty nose a-tilt, 
Scorns Fan's wish as funny. 

Says she : "You may have the rhymes; 
For me, give me money." 
25 



DREAMING BACK 

"Well/' said Nellie, last of all, 

"I expect to tarry. 
Till I meet a demi-god, 

I shall never marry." 

Truth to tell, 'twas Nell who stood 

First at Hymen's altar. 
Cupid strings his bow — and maids 

Wait not oft to palter. 

Bess, who chose the lowly lot, 

Queens it in a palace ; 
Every sweet of place and state 

Brims, for her, life's chalice. 

Kate, a millionaire would wed, 

Fannie, a versemaker ; 
Kittie's husband's but a clerk, 

Fan's, an honest baker. 



26 



DREAMING BACK 

LOOKING TO THE SUNRISE. 

With many tears we lay them low, 
Under the clover, or the snow. 

Out to the East their calm eyes turn, 
Where sunrise glories glow and burn. 

Fair babes, whose white feet weary grow, 
Ere yet Life's dusty paths they know. 

Light-hearted children, from their play ; 
Tall youths, and bright-faced maidens 
gay. 

Pale mothers, from small arms that cling ; 
Strong men, whose steps with vigor ring. 

Wayfarers, gray and old and worn, 
Scarred with Life's many conflicts borne. 

Blindly our souls, through lonely days, 
Grope, doubt-disturbed, down shadowed 
ways. 

Great Master ! Open to Thy ken 
Are heights and depths unspanned of men. 
27 



DREAMING BACK 

Easy to read, the mystery * 

Of Immortality — to Thee. 

So in our hearts, as breath of balm, 
Pour consolation, sweet and calm. 

Bright Hope — to smile away our fears ; 
And Faith — to look beyond the years, 

To where, as o'er a narrow sea, 
Clear breaks thy morn — Eternity. 



28 



DREAMING BACK 

A HERITAGE. 

The babe lay calm across my knee, 

So dear, so sweet, so fair! 
The tall lad on my shoulder leaned, 

To see his brother there. 

As thoughtfully the boy looked down, 
He said: — and, speaking, smiled, — 

"Why, mother ! I shall be a man 
While he is but child." 

They were but two. A third should be, 
But none had come between; 

And each a second name I gave 
That once my own had been. 

And sturdy men had borne it well, 

And worn it worthily, 
Since brothers John and Jonathan* 

Came sailing o'er the sea. 



*John and Jonathan Newbury, English brothers, were 
early corners to the Colonies. From the latter of these 
the family of which the author of "A Heritage" is a 
member claims descent. 

29 



DREAMING BACK 

This hand lay on a young, dark head, 

And that on one of gold, 
As musingly I said: "Of which 

Shall braver deeds be told?" 

The babe lay calm across my knee, 

So still, so pale, so pure! 
Angel of Peace ! Limn deep that look 

While memory shall endure. 

The tall lad on my shoulder leaned; 

He said : — and sadly smiled, 
"I soon shall be a man — but he 

Will ever be a child." 

Cold blew the stormy winds of March ; 

The early shadows fell. 
I said: "The name is yours alone, 

And you must wear it well." 



30 



DREAMING BACK 

A MEMORY. 

Far down in the west the sun redly sinks, 
O'er the hilltops its last lances quiver; 

And the sigh of the wind in the branches 
o'erhead, 
Mingles soft with the rush of the river. 

Still and quiet the road stretches dustily 
out, 
As if it might reach on unending; 
And far in the distance the streamlet and 
trees, 
In the haze of the twilight are blending. 

Now slow up the road come the loitering 
cows, 
Stopping oft for a snatch at the clover ; 
And slow follows after the tired farmer 
boy, 
Shouting shrilly to call back a rover. 

Over vale and woodland and whispering 
stream, 
The evening its mantle is throwing; 
While lone in the blue, through a fleecy 
cloud seen, 
A pale star is mistily showing. 
3* 



DREAMING BACK 

ALICE AND I. 

They stood upon their feet of twigs, — 

A queer, unsteady row; 
The birds we made of milkweed pods, — ■ 

But that was long ago. 

My faded bonnet down my back 
Hung by its gingham strings ; 

Your eager eyes looked out beneath 
Your wind-blown hair's dark rings. 

Fast sped the years; again we met; — 

I from a distant town. 
Serene you walked; a wide-eyed child 

Clung to your silken gown. 

My one tall lad stood by my side ; — 

You gravely bowed — and I 
As calmly smiled. Each said: "Good 
day!" 

And passed the other by. 

You know the way of milkweed pods: — 

Their silken, silvery fluff 
Floats wide on Indian Summer airs, 

With every soft wind's puff. 
32 



DREAMING BACK 

I wonder if the birds we made 

Had found their wings, and flown; 

And carried far the memories 
Of days that we had known. 

Or — when you sat at home that night, 

It may be that you smiled; 
And told your little daughter tales 

Of: "When I was a'child." 



33 



DREAMING BACK 

A MOUNTAIN STREAM. 

A tiny rill, it trickles forth 

High in the ledge-set mountain; 

Its small beginnings overflow 
From out a woodland fountain. 

Born of that bubbling, cup-like spring, — 
Down lonely ways to ramble, — 

It races over stony slopes, 

Or creeps through brake and bramble. 

Deep in its cold and rock-bound pools 
Lurk speckled brook-trout, wary; 

Wider it grows, with volume fed 
By streamlets tributary. 

Out in the open now it speeds, 
With waters fast increasing; 

Until past mountain villages 
It sweeps, with rush unceasing. 

And here an old bridge spans its flow, 
With timbers gray, age-eaten; 

Its log piers lift up battered rounds, 
Storm-scarred, and flood-drift beaten. 

I gaze down o'er its low-hung rail, 
And many faces meet me; 
34 



DREAMING BACK 

Voices I have not heard for years 
With song and laughter greet me. 

Blue eyes and brown, and eyes of gray, 

Look up, as from a mirror ; 
If these should stand before me now, 

I could not see them clearer. 

Light were the feet that gayly tripped 

Along the shaded highway, 
To linger on the bridge that joined 

Worn pike and grass-grown byway. 

Inconsequential was the talk 

That filled the idle hour; — 
Down winds of twilight drifted scent 

Of leaf and dew-drenched flower. 

We dreamed brave dreams of things to 
be— 

Of loving, having, giving; 
In rhythm lapped the waves — and oh! 

'Twas joy to just be living. 

Soon from beyond the purple hills, 
Where evening shades were falling, 

Our souls should hear the echoing 
Of voices calling — calling. 
35 



DREAMING BACK 

And some would answer; faring forth 
As youth is faring ever; — 

Eager of heart, and undismayed — 
To fields of new endeavor. 



For men must be in cities pent 
To toil with striving brothers ; 

And men must plant the wilderness 
To feed the hungry others. 



Happy, it may be, is the man 
Content to dwell unchanging; 

But he who knows the wanderlust 
Must o'er the earth go ranging. 

Dear vanished of life's care-free morn, 
Though we have long been parted, 

Your faces look at me to-day, 
And make me stronger hearted. 



Glide on below, oh, murmuring stream, 
Visions of youthtime bringing; 

Your whispering sound has softly set 
The Bells of Memory ringing. 
36 



DREAMING BACK 



A GUIDING HAND. 

One standing near me says: "God's 
mighty forces 
Heed not life's common things. 
He guides uncounted worlds through in- 
finite spaces, 
But not one bird's free wings. 

"For what are we ? Less than a dead leaf 
drifting. 

And what is life? No more. 
A fleeting, flitting, flying, fairy bubble 

Driven to a misty shore." 

The one who speaks stood by his sleeping 
children. — 
Untroubled by life's fears, 
They early stepped from out Time's limi- 
tations 
Into Eternal years. 

Oh, was it then — with skeptic vision clear- 
ing* 
And eyes upraised to Thee, — 

He said, with tears : "In Thy wide Some- 
where, Father, 
Give back these boys to me!" 
37 



DREAMING BACK 

JACK. 

I had not even known the spot 

Where he was lying low; 
And so the long-unthought-of name 

Struck sharply as a blow. 

"Why, surely, this is Jack!" I cried; 

And with a sudden shock 
The name came as a magic key, 

To fit in memory's lock. 

Chance led me to this long-made grave; 

I read upon the stone: — 
"Aged twenty years," — and thought : "So 
young 

To launch on seas unknown!" 

Then idly glancing up the lines, 

The name above to see, 
As in a dream, old memories 

Of childhood came to me. 

I thought of camps; of marches long; 

Of battles; wounded men. 
I thought of how this lad went forth, 

And how he came again. 
38 



DREA MING BACK 

Before me passed life's gracious gifts, 

Its happiness and cheer ; 
For joy, for love, mens souls had 
reached — 

And grasped; while Jack— slept here. 

Across the misty meadow land 
A bell rang, clear and sweet. 

A fading sunbeam touched the stone;— 
His grave was at my feet. 



39 



DREAMING BACK 

THE OLD HOME. 

It stands' back from the village street, — 

The house I knew of old; 
And in the yard the evergreens 

Droop with their burden cold. 
Beneath their bending boughs I wait, — 

A laugh, a shout, a blow, — 
And all about me and around, 

Soft falls a drift of snow. 

The maple trees along the front 

Reach skyward, as of old; 
The hill across the street looms up, 

With outlines just as bold. 
The sweet syringa by the porch 

Bends gently to and fro; 
And still the locust showers its blooms 

When late Spring breezes blow. 

The bees hum through the drowsy noon, 

Low droning, as of old; 
The Summer sunshine gilds the trees 

With wavering flecks of gold. 
It fades behind the western hills, 

And, as the twilight falls, 
40 



DREAMING BACK 

From out the shadows, soft and dim, 
The sweet wood-robin calls.* 

The frost has touched the maple's green 

With glory, never old; 
And on the hill the beech trees tall 

Aloft gay banners hold. 
The bright leaves rustle at my step, — 

I am a child once more, — 
As up the path my bounding feet 

Run to the well-known door. 

Dear home ! Where happy children dwell, 

As children did of old; 
Fair girls, with sunny smiles as bright, 

Brave boys, with hearts as bold. 
The snow falls soft, Spring flowers bloom, 

Sweet airs of Summer blow; 
Forever changing, still unchanged, 

Life's seasons come and 2:0. 



.--. 



*As a child, the author knew the hermit-thrush by 
the name of "wood-robin." 



'0 



DREAMING BACK 



WAR AND PEACE. 

Speak not to us of war! — we saw them 

go — 
Sons, husbands, brothers, lovers — row on 
row. 

Speak not to us of war! — in grief and 

pain, 
We saw the shattered remnant come 

again. 

Speak not to us of peace! — dishonor 

crowned ; 
Cry, then, oh, blood of kindred, from the 

ground ! 

Thou, Who dost rule the land, in praise or 

blame, — 
Give war! — if war be honor, peace be 

shame. 



'42 



DREAMING BACK 

THE COTTONWOOD. 

Lift high each straggling branch, guard 
of the lonely ranch, 
And sluggish stream; 
O'er thee white cloud fleets drift, 'neath 
thee slow, still waves shift, 
While thou dost dream. 

Stirs now thy airy band, as with an elfin 
hand, — 
Vague winds ablow ; 
Murmurs each leaflet then, like whisper- 
ing voice of men, 
Or brook's soft flow. 

Bend low each tossing bough, o'er thee 
black storm clouds now, 
Like war ships sail; 
Hark, to the thunder's din ! Crash ! Now 
some brittle limb 
Scuds with the gale. 

'Neath thee the maddened stream, shown 
by the lightning's gleam, 
Sweeps through the night ; — 
Fed by the rushing rain, over the bound- 
less plain, 
Speeds from the sight. 
43 



DREAMING BACK 

Shake, now, each silver leaf, far has the 
tempest brief 
Passed on its way ; 
Up from earth's cloudless brim, swift 
springs a dazzling rim, 
Gilding the day. 



m 



DREAMING BACK 

IN RETROSPECT. 
To E. S. F. 

And in remembrance of the youthtime 
together that was ours. 

O'er miles of space a gift I send; — 
This little gift of verse, old friend. 

To you — where rock-ledged heights lift 

high 
Green-wooded summits to the sky. 

From me — where stretches on each hand 
The wide sweep of the prairie land. 

From far-off Mississippi's flow 

To where the Catskill breezes blow. 

Swing wide before us, Memory's door, 
That we may children be once more. 

Speak, rills we knew, and whisper low 
Tales of the past — the Long Ago. 

Blow, mountain winds, adown the way 
Where lies the Land of Yesterday. 
45 



DREAMING BACK 

And loitering there by sun-flecked 

streams, 
We'll think old thoughts and dream old 

dreams. 

Fleet-footed, o'er the hills we'll stray; 
In vales where wild-flowers bloom we'll 
play. 

And in the haunts of childhood we 
Will be as brooks and breezes free. 

Again our young eyes, from afar, 
Shall see arise the cloud of war. 

That cloud whose blackness hid the light, 
And veiled the mourning land in night. 

They passed — those sorrow-laden years — 
Burdened with grief, with pain, with 
tears ; — 

And even as the Nation wept, 
We into girlhood lightly stepped. 

Oh, glorious youthtime! Nevermore 
Our feet may press your radiant shore. 
46 



DREAMING BACK 



Unless— as falls the eventide— 
We lay our years — with life— aside. 

Time swiftly sped; new homes we made; 
And round our hearths young children 

played. 
Now two to manhood's height have 

grown ; 
And two to Fairer Lands have flown. 

Life's morning sunshine backward 

sweeps ; 
Life's evening shadow nearer creeps. 

The flowers of Spring, and Summer's 

prime, 
Behind us lie; the Autumn time 

Of life is ours ; and as we go, 
Not distant lies the Winter snow. 

Together we, with hearts of hope 
And light feet, climbed life's morning 
slope. 

With pearls of joy each hour was 

strung ; — 

But would we— if we could— be young.' 
47 



DREAMING BACK 

I^ife to begin anew — to rest 

As babes upon a mother's breast? 

To live again the changing years ; — 
Their gain, their loss — the smiles, the 
tears, 

The pause of idleness, the stress, 
The storm, the calm, the restlessness, 

The faiths, the doubts, the sorrows old, 
When hands we held — dear hands — grew 
cold, 

And all the myriad things forgot 
That made, for us, the common lot ? 

We would not. Fleeting though its 

span — 
One life of earth enough for man. 

But it is worth the living. Yes. 
Know not we still life's loveliness? 

Younger nor older would we be 
Than each day finds us ; we may see 

48 



DREAMING BACK 

To-morrows, many yet, unfold 
In beauty, ere our years be told. 

But sure as life is this: Its end. 
To it — with ours — all footsteps tend. 

Accept we what will be; and yet — 
Muse we not with a vague regret 

Of foretold marvels due to come 
As dawns the earth's millennium? 

For wondrous things the world will 

bless ; — 
Not Heaven's alone the promises. 

And we — shall we be deaf and blind ? 
Dead to all joys of humankind? 

Fathom we not the mighty plan 
That He who rules designed for man. 

But this is ours to know : Somewhere 
The "eternal years of God" we share. 
49 



DREAMING BACK 

MY CHRISTMAS CHILD. 

Blue eyes a-shine, rose lips a-smile, — 
Babe-ghost, come home to-day ! 

Your stocking hangs beside the fire, 
Your toys are spread for play. 

The frost-rime glitters on the bough; — 
Christ's birthdays come and go; 

I see your feet — such white, wee feet, — 
In all the falling snow. 

Your voice threads through each wind 
that blows ; — 

Weird winds of Christmas time! 
You murmur with the storm-swept leaf, 

Laugh in the bells' gay chime. 

When, all alight, the gift-tree glows, 

A gleeful sprite, you come, 
To sit upon this empty knee, 

And reach for top, or drum. 

A phantom sprite ! For not again 

Will you return to me ; 
The evergreen, with snow-wreaths hung, 

Your lonely Christmas tree. 
5o 



DREAMING BACK 

Life of my life ! What precious gift 
That mother-love could bring, 

Would please the wondering, baby eyes 
That look upon The King? 

White lily in His garden set — 

The Christ-Child's garden fair; — 

Is there a gem of earth so bright, 
That it would sparkle there? 

I cannot see how far away, 

I may not know how near 
It lies — the Happy Country, where 

You keep this Christmas, dear. 

I smile — the day of tears long past ; 

Safe sheltered, undented, 
Where wee ones play about the Throne, 

You live — my long-dead child. 



5i 



DREAMING BACK 

SPRING O' THE YEAR. 

Tears with the dark ; wind-blown the rain ; 
The drops ran, slanting, down the pane. 

Two young, young faces, brave and 

bright, 
Looked out into the grieving night. 

Lo, in the east now breaks the morn; 
Cloudless and clear the day is born. 

Bank-full, the red stream roars below, 
As down the hillside path we go. 

Under the spanning bridge we see 
Flotsam of log, and branch, and tree 

Race whirling past, with grind and shock; 
Or splintered on some rearing rock. 

The slender willows, flood-drowned, stand, 
And reach out tossing boughs to land. 

While fast the hurrying waters slip, 
Into their rush the catkins dip. 
52 



DREAMING BACK 

Borne, echoing, from the village street, 
Sounds the dull tramp of marching feet. 

Near — nearer now the long line comes ; 
We hear the deep, low roll of drums. 

Above the rhythmic rise and fall, 
A bugler shrills the rally call. 

Rich man and toiler, these reply; — 
Hovel and palace born go by 

Beneath our floating ensign's fold ; — 
Schoolboy and graybeard, young and old. 

They go! — their prison graves to fill. 
They go! — to die on plain and hill. 

The bloody trench, where some must sleep, 
Its secret through the years shall keep. 

"Missing!" While they who love them 

wait ; — 
And hear their footsteps at the gate. 

Strong souls of men, such fate to face ! — 
You pass, boy soldier, to your place. 
53 



DREAMING BACK 

Dim are our meeting eyes, as you 
Whisper your parting: "Love, be true!" 

Dream of a bygone day ! The rain 
Slanted, last night, across the pane. 

A face I knew was mirrored there ; — 
A care-lined face, with graying hair. 

Alone, I hear the wild Kill's flow, 
As down the hillside path I go. 

Now by the swollen stream I stand, 
A willow catkin in my hand. 

Back through long Springs I call to 

you: — 
"Patience, Dear Heart! I have been 

true." 



54 



DREAMING BACK 

ERRANT THOUGHTS. 

We women sit at home and sew, all quietly 
in seeming, 
Though wide as vagrant winds the 
thoughts may fly; 
And oft of some far distant one we're 
dreaming, 
The while our work we scan with busy 
eye. 

The fair young girl, o'er dainty trifle 
bending, 
Seems to be giving it her every thought ; 
But fancy bright to other scenes is wend- 
ing* 
And with the stitches tender looks are 

wrought. 

The matron, youthful still, and freshly 
blooming, 
With skill her needle plies, and patient 
care, 
W r hile musing of the little one, whose com- 
ing 
Gives her the look that mothers only 
wear. 

55 



DREAMING BACK 

She weaves in thoughts of "Baby" with 
her sewing, 
And smiles, as in her visions of his fate, 
She sees the boy to noble manhood grow- 
ing, 
And numbered with the honored and 
the great. 



Or — if a girl-child be the cradle treas- 
ure — 
In mother-dreams the fairy maiden 
brings 
To heart and home, of joy and love full 
measure, 
And through life's changing years all 
happy things. 



No matter what the garment we are mak- 
ing", 
Our thoughts are busy as the busy 

hand; 
One moment gay, then, erst-lulled griefs 
awaking, 
We sew in tears, with gusset, seam and 
band. 

56 



DREAMING BACK 

And so — although we sew at home, all 
quietly in seeming, 
No humdrum task the mind's free range 
may bound; 
Our work is woven in with checkered 
dreaming ; — 
Pent in four walls, we rove the wide 
world round. 



57 



DREAMING BACK 

THREE IN A ROW. 

Hippety! Hoppety! Three in a row! 
Round the green schoolhouse-yard, skip- 
ping they go. 

Nell in the middle, in pretty plaid gown; 
Blue for sweet Alice, and Edith in brown. 

Heads close together, one dark and two 

fair; 
See the wise look that the bright faces 

wear! 

Slow now, and slower — how lag the light 
feet! 

Gay voices dropping, strange tales to re- 
peat. 

Wonderful secrets they're whispering 

low; 
Secrets that only we country folk know. 

Where in some wood nook the first flowers 

bloom ; 
Or on a south slope, where velvet bees 

boom 

58 



DREAMING BACK 

How the wild strawberries, reddening, 

wait; 
Where calls the hermit-thrush sweet to 
his mate. 

Where the shy ground-bird has built its 

low nest, 
Shaded and hid by a weed's plumy crest. 

Swallows at housekeeping under the 

ledge; 
Four speckled eggs in a nest in the hedge. 

When all the marvelous stories are told, 
Flutter three bright heads, one brown and 
two gold. 

And three little lassies, with frolic and 
fun, 



59 



DREAMING BACK 

"BABY." 

What shall we name the baby? — 

Baby, so winsome and fair; 
Gift of the skies, that so lately 

Came, in our glad hearts to share. 
Shall we name her Alice or Edith or Bell ? 
Shall we call her Ethel or Grace or Nell? 
May, Florence or Mar jorie, Enid or Dell ? 

What name will we choose for "Baby" ? 

" 'Prudence/ or 'Primrose,' " says mam- 
ma. 
" 'Winifred!' " eager Bess cries. 
Papa says : " 'Dorothy, darling' ! 

With grandmamma Dorothy's eyes." 
"Oh, find something longer!" laughs tall 

brother Fred, 
Stooping low with a kiss for the wee, 

downy head. 
"Such a mite of a girl, but such big names 
instead ; 
We'll not let them frighten us, 'Baby.' " 

Fair in the Christ-Child's garden, 
Wonderful earth-flowers grow. 

Farther — that Land — than the star-shine, 
Nearer than mortals may know. 
60 



DREAMING BACK 

The messenger bent to the listening ear; 
Soft, soft came the whisper none other 

might hear: 
"He nameth thee, 'Angel'!" And then, 
sweet and clear : 
"The Master hath need of thee, 
'Baby'!" 



THE END. 



61 



OCT 6 J 909 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



015 973 669 6 



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